


A Molten Moment

by Lurlur



Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Kinktober 2020, Kissing, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, No Smut, Nudity, Sensation Play, Wax Play, so what is it? I don't know
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26881003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lurlur/pseuds/Lurlur
Summary: Crowley and Aziraphale attempt wax play for the first time.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Kinktober 2020 [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946860
Comments: 11
Kudos: 67





	A Molten Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Dedicated to my very great friend, Lady Miller, who taught me all I know about wax play. All errors are my own.
> 
> Written for vgersix's Kinktober 2020 prompt "hot wax"

“Will you stop worrying? I’m literally fireproof.” Crowley sounds annoyed but his face is gently amused which goes a long way towards soothing Aziraphale’s nerves.

“Well, forgive me for not wanting to burn the skin off your bones,” he teases back, again touching all the collected accoutrements in turn, a nervous habit that grounds him, “now, lie down and stop fidgeting so I can work.”

With a taunting grin that clearly expresses Crowley’s message of “I have more to say about how ridiculous you’re being but I also very much want you to do this for me so I am choosing to be gracious”, he climbs onto the massage table currently dominating his office and lies down on his front.

Aziraphale is as ready as he’s ever going to be. He’s read every text he can find on the subject and, when those proved to be lacking, he allowed Crowley to bring his laptop to the bookshop and watched a number of videos. He’s not going to attempt anything complicated like some of the designs he’s seen, not this first time at least. Crowley has assured him that it’s far more about the sensation and that being a living canvas is a secondary benefit. Whatever Jackson Pollock knock-off Aziraphale manages will be more than appreciated.

After rolling his shirtsleeves to the elbow, and just because the naked stretch of Crowley’s body is an irresistible temptation, Aziraphale strokes the length of his back and squeezes the rise of his buttocks. This is all his, his Crowley, his blank page.

He selects a red candle first, thinking of the bright colour of Crowley’s belly the first time they’d met. It ignites with a thought and Aziraphale holds it as the videos instructed, letting the wax melt and pool.

“Are you ready? The first one is about ready,” he asks, needing Crowley’s assent before he lets a single drip touch Crowley’s skin.

“Yes, I’m ready,” says Crowley, his arm dropping off the side of the massage table to affectionately curl around Aziraphale’s leg.

Once Crowley has released him, Aziraphale begins to let the wax fall. He holds it quite high for the first few drops, giving the wax a long descent to cool before hitting Crowley’s skin. They make fat little splashes along his spine, the wax thick enough to keep from splattering.

“How does that feel?” Aziraphale asks, letting a few more dribbles land across Crowley’s shoulders.

“S’good, warm,” Crowley says, muffled by the arm tucked around his face.

“I’m going to bring it a little lower, let me know if it gets too hot or too much,” says Aziraphale. He sees Crowley lift his head and decides to cut off the obvious retort before it exists. “Don’t tell me not to worry, I only want to be sure that this stays on the right side of pleasurable for you.”

Crowley mumbles something that sounds sarcastic in tone but then manages to respond in a more appropriate manner, appeasing Aziraphale’s desire to worry and fuss.

He lowers the candle slowly, spacing out the drips so that heat doesn’t build in one spot for too long. It’s impossible to ignore that Crowley is making happy little noises with each fresh drip of wax. Aziraphale brings the candle as low as he dares, now just a couple of inches above Crowley’s skin, and listens to the sound Crowley makes when the hot wax hits him.

It’s a soft gasp that bleeds into a hum, coupled with a serpentine shimmy that Aziraphale knows Crowley would never consider to be a delighted wiggle but serves much the same purpose. He extinguishes the red candle and picks up a golden-yellow one that bears a striking resemblance to the colour of Crowley’s eyes.

As the new candle warms up and begins to melt, Aziraphale checks in with Crowley again and is pleased to find him deep in a state of bliss.

“Can take more,” he says, sounding sleepy and happy. His hand had taken up near-permanent residence on Aziraphale’s calf, like an anchoring connection between them.

This time, Aziraphale worked up to letting the hot wax pool in the natural dips of Crowley’s back, allowing the heat to build and linger. Once or twice he earns a muffled hiss from Crowley as the heat manages to trigger a pain response. A little pain is part of the goal, something to help Crowley clear his mind and give in to the sensations. There’s no request to stop, though, so Aziraphale switches his golden candle for a vibrant green that puts him in mind of Crowley’s lush plants.

There’s no pattern to the wax he dribbles over Crowley’s skin, just a random collection of dots that merge together, but the effect is quite striking nonetheless. The red and green make things look rather more festive than Aziraphale likes, so he switches to the black candle from the pack to tone it down. Crowley had gone a touch overboard when buying the wax play candles, giving Aziraphale an enormous colour palette to choose from but, somehow, these few spoke to him most keenly.

With the black candle now melting a steady stream of wax onto Crowley’s back, Aziraphale used his free hand to stroke through Crowley’s hair as he told him how well he had behaved and how beautiful he was.

Finally, he extinguishes the black candle and tucks it back in its storage. He gets the odd impression that the mess of droplets he’s created is somehow significant, like his hand was being guided by something unknown. He doesn’t even know if he has a subconscious, when he gets right down to it, but there’s a distinct serpent shape undulating across Crowley’s back.

“I think you’re done, love,” he says. He could go on for hours but Crowley only has so much torso and is fairly coasted now.

“Mmm,” says Crowley sounding drowsy and happy, “take a photo?” He waves towards the sofa where his phone is sitting on top of his folded clothes.

Huffing a little at the request, Aziraphale retrieves the phone and peers at it from a distance before bringing it right up to his face.

“Oh, you’ll have to make this thing work,” he says, putting the phone in Crowley’s outstretched hand.

A few swipes later and the phone is ready to take a photo. Aziraphale takes a few pictures of Crowley’s back, as well as an accidental video, and an unflattering selfie when he manages to flip the camera. He gives the phone back with a vague sort of apology, cringing when Crowley laughs at the picture of his startled face.

“Oh, it looks really good,” he says when he sees the photo of his back, “feels like a Rorschach test, though. Is that a snake?”

“Not deliberately, but I see it too,” Aziraphale agrees. “How does it feel? Are you ready for me to clean you up?”

Crowley shifts slightly, the muscles of his back tensing under the wax coating. A crack appears about two thirds down and one corner lifts off his skin.

“Feels tight, bit like I need to shed, but not unpleasant. Go ahead and scrape me clean.”

Pulling a face at Crowley’s choice of words, Aziraphale picks up his wooden knife and uses it to lift the corner that has already started to part. The main bulk of the wax comes up in just four sections, holding together remarkably well.

The odd spot that clings to Crowley’s skin is quickly scraped away with the knife blade and dropped into the waiting bin. Soon, his back is clear and pink. Aziraphale rubs him down with a warm, damp cloth, speaking to him in soft tones about how well he has behaved and how proud Crowley makes him.

When Crowley finally sits up, pleased and a little dopey from the attention, all that’s left to do is for Aziraphale to kiss him as deeply as he likes and for as long as he likes.


End file.
